These Three Words
by katietheunicorn
Summary: Just a short, sweet story following Kate as she plucks up the courage to say the all-important words.
1. Chapter 1

Hello, friends. This piece will not have great length and will not have a detailed plot, as such, but will open for us the mind of the majestic Kate Beckett we see and display her vulnerabilities. It is based around Sara Bareilles's wonderful new song, _Brave_, which I have been playing on loop since yesterday. I thoroughly hope you enjoy reading! Please leave a review!

_KT X_

Green_Tiger_21

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_**You could be amazing,**_

_**You could turn a phrase into a weapon or a drug.**_

Kate Beckett had spent a great number of years by now taking down suspects. Those suspects had such sick minds that some had made her shiver, some so bad she'd wanted to run from the room as fast as humanly possible, but she hadn't. She was stoic, stubborn and she always got her way. Some of the suspects could be talked into confessions in ten minutes. Others took the whole twenty-four hours for which Kate was allowed to hold them. But she always got her way. Even if it took all night, she would talk to that suspect, that known murderer, until he or she confessed to everything. And she could always tell when they were caving, because they slouched further down into their seats and hunched further over onto the table. Then she pulled out whatever her last card was – a threat, perhaps against them or against somebody close to them, or an offer, again, either a reduced sentence for them or for someone close to them. Always, in the end, Kate Beckett got her way. She beat them.

There were some felons up at Rikers who wanted to kill her, she knew. She'd told "Hal Lockwood" so. There were other people who had never been treated so fairly in their lives, and they not only respected her, they idolised her. They loved for her to visit them and see their fine behavioural performances, see their creative projects or their contribution to prison life. They almost seemed sad when they were at last transferred to the centre at which they would serve their full sentence. What she had told Lockwood was not a lie – if her fans had known she met with him on a weekly basis, an airtight schedule, they would have resented him for jealousy would have clouded their vision; but on the other hand there were those who, had they heard, would surely have encountered him at the first opportunity, intent on formulating a plot with a fellow criminal mastermind to end her life.

Her words had induced these acute feelings in those criminals, she knew. She got them a good deal, showed them such diplomatic an environment they had to be re-educated in commonplace etiquette, and they appreciated this greatly. Because she talked to the DA, she talked to them. She never passed off a suspect to an officer to handle; that would not be fair and she would not then be able to see the outcome of her successful investigations through to the very end. She talked for them, used words where they were allocated none, and they were grateful. They saw her as their saviours.

But she had also earned hate through her words. She'd lied about evidence or fabricated a witness and brought forth an enraged confession when really there was no convicting evidence. She'd performed so more than once with such little evidence she'd have been lucky if an application for a search warrant had been fruitful. She'd ended the free lives of men who felt they'd almost gotten away with it, and that angered them. Others were angered by her words because she spoke only the truth. She told them their motive was void, told them that he wasn't going to tell, or she wasn't cheating, or he was about to propose to you. They discovered they'd killed a friend or a loved one for nothing. They'd killed and were now serving their sentence because Kate Beckett had outsmarted them and they hated that. Some just hated that a woman had beaten them, but most personally blamed her for their incarceration.

There were yet more people who had opinions and feelings towards her because of her words. People couldn't look her in the eye when she said, "I'm so sorry for your loss," because she was finalising it: yes, they really were dead. Victims distrusted her because if she was talking to live ones, she was probably accusing them of something in order to generate an outcry of some useful name, some as yet unknown perpetrator. Children met her eyes with wary ones because Daddy had told them they were not going to see Mommy again, and she was somehow involved. They'd seen her talking to Daddy and he'd been crying. She must be at fault somewhere.

But, in the end, her words defined her. An outcry of, "_NYPD!_" told people of her power. A softly spoken, "Sorry," told listeners of her empathy. A "Thank you," revealed her gratitude and its depths within her, not merely its expected exterior, its automatic appearance. And a defiantly stated, "Always," heard by only one person as yet, was a solid and unshakeable message of her commitment and refusal to give up on anyone, even herself.

So why, then, were there words trapped deep within her, fighting to be heard, yet fiercely repressed by rationality? How could she, at this point, be warring so to find her voice. It was not like her.

It was not like Kate Beckett at all.


	2. Chapter 2

Hello, my Caskett-shipping counterparts,

Thanks for reading, beautiful people! I'm still obsessed with the song and Sara Bareilles told me I made her smile! Please enjoy; I hope I don't disappoint with my interpretation of our wonderful Miss Beckett.

Loveballs, KT X

_Twitter: Green_Tiger_21_

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_**You can be the outcast,**_

_**Or be the backlash of somebody's lack of love.**_

Kate Beckett was no stranger to the discomfort felt when a phrase would best be kept locked away, unheard by sensitive ears. But she always rose to what was expected of her and performed splendidly, never faltering or fading, never giving anything away through hesitation or a lack of surety. She was always prepared and methodical and she had a system in place for every kind of situation she might find herself in – a way to talk herself out, or in, and achieve resolution. Words just came naturally to her when she most needed them.

Yet, recently, she had found herself struggling. There was a war of words, her heart raging against her head, her head raging against her heart. The restraints of her sense and rationality were impeding her heart's voice, and it was all quite confusing for her. Her head said not to commit. It was perfectly rational – it was a natural defence system: nobody wanted to get hurt. Even Kate Beckett was susceptible to the pain of losing someone, despite her numerous walls and shields and guards she had enlisted after the last time she found her heart burning inside her chest with irrepressible longing.

And her heart said to jump. It said to jump because there was faith to be had that he would catch her, and that faith was well placed and thoroughly justified. Kate knew she could rely on Richard Castle to catch her, she knew it. She knew that he could be an immature, egotistical, self-centred jackass at times. But she also knew that he could hold her hand and sensitively tell her that there was nobody like her. She knew that he could shield her from an exploding room with his own body, intent on preserving her life with no thought to his own. She even knew that, yes, in fact, he had saved her life nine times while she'd saved his but eight. Though there was now considerable room for debate.

To commit to Rick was far from foolhardy, and yet she could not bring the words to her lips. Whenever she thought she could, they became stuck on their journey, lodged in her throat, and she would smile and kiss him, or look down and take his hand, or step forward and slide her arms around his waist. She was trying to tell her head to trust her heart, because she knew her heart spoke the truth. And she couldn't deny it, that she could love him.

She was just afraid.

They'd been through so much together and she worried that one day it would all become too much. She worried not that he'd leave her, for she couldn't believe he could, but rather that he would step into the line of fire, step into her place, and she could never forgive herself if that happened, and in her bizarre mind, not loving him would make that easier.

Except she knew she did love him.

Perhaps there was something about the verbal commitment that set it in stone, she mused. She prevented herself unwittingly from saying it aloud, and yet there was nothing to stop her. Not reason, nor a lack thereof. Not even herself.

_**Or you can start speaking up.**_

The words were already formed. They just needed voicing, they needed to be brought into the atmosphere with such belief and wonder and commitment they couldn't possibly be denied.

But when? When could she proclaim such a statement, or rather, an outcry, that it should have its full impact in a beautiful, starlit context?

More questions came to mind, complicating the whole situation. She decided that she should save it for when they were alone; it would be more intimate and more special that way. But who cared about intimacy? She wanted the world to know! She wanted to scream it in front of the whole precinct and kiss him right there! No, no – not only would that be rash, but Gates would here and surely bar him from working with her. She didn't want to lose him at work – he made it seem so much less like work. He brought humour to everything, even when her team were forced to deal with impossibly harrowing cases. He brought insight, he thought outside the box, and he had even been helpful on more than one occasion, though Kate didn't so much like to admit that aloud. More than that, however, he was just there. She knew that if she needed him to pull her aside at any moment, to hold her gently as she worked through what was flying around her chaotic mind, long enough for her to process it one piece at a time. She knew that he could take her hand beneath her desk and draw lazy circles across her palm with his thumb and lull her into a peaceful calm so she could healthily approach her given tasks. And she knew he would go and fetch her coffee without her even having to ask, and he'd leave his fingers to linger on hers for longer than necessary, sending warmth radiating right down to her toes. Best of all though, he was there to sit and smile quietly. To tell her without words that she was doing great, and he still thought she was amazing, and he knew she could do it. She'd come to be so reliant on his assurance she was hesitant to discover how she would be without it.


	3. Chapter 3

Sorry for the delay, everyone, but exams are here and assaulting me with their daring probes and unwavering defiance. Until they finish, (my last is June 19th) I shall remain a ghost. Afterwards, however, I will finally feel free and will right for you all the things swimming around my mind, longing to be woven into words. Speaking of a desire for words, please enjoy!

_KT X ( Green_Tiger_21)_

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_**Nothing's gonna hurt you the way the words do when they settle 'neath your skin,**_

_**Kept on the inside, no sunlight, sometimes a shadow wins.**_

The battle that had begun to rage through Kate was sapping her energy and her usually incontrovertible strength; it was drawing her awareness from her work and her surroundings as well as pulling her inwards so that she snapped at her friends and lost her focus mid-conversation, making it appear as though she hadn't been listening simply because she didn't care. It was taking over her life and that made her worry even more, because if she allowed her performance in key aspects of her life to falter simply for an internal debate over a simple sentence, then she feared what might happen if she did say them and the consequential commitment they implied would make it impossible to apply herself to anything else; that would be dangerous in her line of work, she knew, because she was responsible not only for her own life, which regularly hung in the balance, but others also; if her partners were lost – if Jenny lost Ryan, or Lanie lost Esposito – she knew she'd never forgive herself. She knew also that she'd lose herself. To lose someone you love is one thing, but to lose them to your own detachment and lack of awareness would plague a person until they reached their grave.

Kate Beckett was far from what anyone would consider a nervous character. She was tenacious, strong-willed and of steadfast temperament, cautious in her risk-taking, careful to follow guidelines as she broke rules and always more determined than ever when she was hiding because she knew she was compromised. So she was far from nervous; she was strong. However, her disposition would certainly provide confusion to the average observer. Even to herself, sometimes.

As she thought, Kate realised that it was during these moments of confusion, which linked, if indirectly at times, to her self-doubt, which seldom reared its ugly head, but exuded an extreme power over her when it did, that Castle had proved himself most reliable to her. Strongest. Because while he did provide her daily lifestyle with humour and fun and unique spirit, he knew when to stop the jokes, when to stay quiet and when simply to silently hand her another cup of coffee. While she hated to admit it, Rick probably knew her better than anyone, besides her dad. She struggled to lie to him, and he often saw through the smoke and mirrors she handed him. He knew her every gesture and its meaning and was able to interpret the messages able to fill a thousand volumes which she radiated with a single look or a short quip. He knew what it meant for her to give herself to him, wholly, and he gave her the space she needed, never stifling nor suffocating her.

His understanding of her had often caused an itch in Kate's hand, a longing, if you will, to wrap her palm around her phone and call him as she sat staring at countless warrant and subpoena applications, chain of evidence slips, incident reports and booking forms, signing her name a thousand times over as she prepared for a court hearing or sentencing, comforting victims, calming witnesses, re-reading her case notes yet again and jotting down a statement for the media for those high-profile cases that loved to present themselves alongside her photo should the general population require someone to blame should the trial backfire.

These words she wrote and spoke every day. She fired off basic, rehearsed lines to reporters, dug deeper and reflected on her own experiences when speaking with victims or witnesses and scrawled short hand across countless sheets of NYPD headed paper. It all seemed so routine to her. With millions of English words at her disposal every day, free to use and apply to every context and conversation, even in her internal dialogues and her strung-together thoughts, she selected those which she needed and applied them basically to each form. They were not adventurous word choices; her sentences were not structured to occupy an entire page and their content was little more than names, dates and verbs. In her speech she could use a wider range of vocabulary, often to intimidate someone she knew would struggle with her language, cruel though that sounded.

The words she wanted were not that much different from these words. In fact, they were close to the simplest a sentence could be: pronoun plus verb. "She walked, she drank, they sat, she loved..." Her sentence included two pronouns and a verb. A very undemanding, uncomplicated sentence. Yet it occupied her mind so, even as she dissected it and attempted to categorise it with clinical professionalism, hoping the distance and perspective would ease her idiopathic concern.

Kate wondered if the depth to which she delved into sometimes trivial corners of her being came from her job, losing her mother, or if it was simply an intrinsic part of her. She wondered the same thing of her unyielding nature. She'd rely on a colleague, a co-worker, a friend – her partner – with confidence; yet her unrelenting defence system kept her from trusting another person to hold her heart.

Maybe, aside from the possibility that this jagged, unfriendly world had induced this coldness in Kate, she just knew not to believe in the fairytale ending.


End file.
